The Spawn Room
by Warenscape The Squishy
Summary: A one-shot based off of a dream I had... It was also an essay I did for a class


Disclaimer: I don't own Team Fortress 2, Valve does.

Hey guys! Etriax the Slayer here! Yes, I know what you're probably thinking. "Etriax! Why aren't you updating 'A Champion's Story?'"

Well, I'll tell you why. This was originally a project for my Writing Workshop class. I read it aloud to everyone and everyone liked it (in other words, no mockery from my classmates), especially my teacher. So I thought I'd let YOU people have a chance to read it.

I would love to hear your feedback on this! So without further ado, enjoy! (This is written from the Scout's POV; I'm toying with first-person perspectives)

The Spawn Room

I sat there on one of the benches, quietly but anxiously. I grabbed my bat bag, making sure that it held my bat. I wrapped my hands in the bandages that I wore so often, it was really more of a fashion statement than anything else now. Then I put on my running shoes and laced them up tightly; wouldn't want one flying off my foot in the heat of battle.

I picked up my pistol, shoving a full clip into it. Then my scattergun, making sure the chamber was full of shells, while trying very carefully not to bump the trigger. That thing was VERY sensitive; I learned that the hard way when I dropped it while running and nearly ended up shooting myself in the head! Finally, I put on my favorite baseball cap and my headset. I let out a sigh, looking around the room at the other eight people in the room with me.

The first one was a guy who we called the "Soldier." He wore a red soldier's uniform and helmet. He stood up straight with his arms crossed. I saw his mouth moving, as though he were yelling at some poor sap who failed him. At his side was his rocket launcher, standing up straight on the open end. It was crazy what he did with that thing; shooting at his feet while jumping to go higher? What the heck is with this guy?

On the bench across from me was our unconscious Demoman, freshly passed out after a bit of alcohol. Then again, I haven't seen him sober yet… But then again, losing an eye can't be good for your sanity…

"I'm a black Scottish CYCLOPS!" he often shouts randomly. His grenade launcher lay in his right hand, the chamber open and some of the grenades sliding out slowly.

In the center of the room was a giant of a man, who we usually referred to as the "Heavy." He was HUGE, much bigger and taller than me, with a bald head and a bandolier around his torso.

He stood there, loudly and happily eating a sandwich. I eyed the large Minigun at his feet. If he wasn't so protective of "Sasha," I'd probably snag it for myself. But then again, I don't think I could even lift it, let alone use it.

Near the exit was the "Pyro," as we called him. Actually, we don't even know if it's a guy at all. He never takes off that red fire-retardant suit or black breath mask of his, so I just assume that he's a guy.

He just stood there occasionally mumbling something. All WE ever heard though was: "Mmmrph… Mmmnfprm…" We can't understand him through his mask, which is also why nobody knows much about him, other than that he likes to burn things… I think he's a robot or a mutant or something weird like that.

Sitting next to me was an Australian man wearing a red shirt under a brown vest, which had rifle ammo in pockets on both sides of the front. He also had black pants, brown shoes, a pair of sunglasses, and a watch on.

He held his sniper rifle in one hand and a rag in the other as he polished his rifle and its scope. I saw the handle of his kukri sticking out of the sheath on his back; he calls it a knife though, don't know why, don't really care. He also had a jar of… something yellow on his belt. I always hoped it was lemonade, but unfortunately, I knew exactly what it really is. Sucks to be whoever he decides to throw it at…

Over by the supply locker behind me was our team's Medic, who was busy suiting up. He wore a white lab coat thing that had some sort of "cape" in the back around his legs. He also wore a pair of grey pants, black boots, and eyeglasses. He pulled his red gloves on with a snap and put on his med-pack. I always wondered what that thing was for. There's a hose connected to his Medigun, so maybe it's for that.

He grabbed his bonesaw off a shelf, eyeing it with a malevolent grin and muttering something in German. He always enjoyed using that thing whenever he got the chance, the sadistic freak that he is. "Ze healing is not as rewarding as ze hurting" was like his motto or something… Ya know, if it wasn't for the fact that he keeps us alive… I probably would've caved in his skull MONTHS ago…

Sitting opposite the Sniper was the Engineer, or "Hardhat" as I like to call him. He was pretty short, with overalls and a red shirt underneath a reflective vest. He also wore a yellow hardhat, goggles, pants with knee pads, boots, and a yellow glove on his right hand.

He sat there, looking over some blueprints for something. I never really understood that sort of thing. But it makes sense to Hardhat, so I don't care. He took a quick glance over at me, and then back to his blueprints. What the hell is he doing, anyways…?

In the back corner of the room was a man in a red suit and ski mask that we knew as the "Spy." … I hate spies… They're all dime-a-dozen, backstabbing scumbags if ya ask me… He leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette while twirling his butterfly knife around. The noises that knife of his makes get pretty annoying after you've heard them about 15,000 times.

I eyed the silver watch on his left arm; he didn't use it for telling time. No, it was a different kind of watch, one that can turn you invisible! I want one of those, that'd be so freaking awesome! I'd be like one of those ninjas I see in the movies!

I looked down at my bandaged hands as I thought. The Soldier, the Pyro, the Demoman, the Heavy, the Engineer, the Medic, the Sniper, and the Spy… Just one person missing: Me. They called me the "Scout." My job? Run around like a maniac, be annoying, jump really high, steal their briefcase, repeat until golden-brown. Sure, I wanted to play baseball, but instead I became a milkman, and then a mercenary. And out here, I'm unstoppable! Nobody can catch me; I'm the fastest of the fast!

"Attention!" an old-sounding and very unsatisfied female voice declared over the loudspeakers and my headset. "Mission begins in 30 seconds! Mission begins in 30 seconds! Do NOT disappoint me…"

That voice was the "Administrator." She's the one that hired me, hired all of use, and the one that signs our paychecks. I've never actually seen her before… All I know is that she pays me to fight with the rest of these knuckleheads.

"Mission begins in ten seconds!"

I gave a sigh and stood up and walked over to the door, shaking my limbs a bit to get the blood flowing. I let myself get into a running pose, my right foot back, left foot forward, and my scattergun snuggly at my hip. I heard the others doing the same, gathering behind me. Even the Demoman was up and ready to go.

"Five!"

This…

"Four!"

This is what I live for…

"Three!"

The rush of battle…

"Two!"

There's nothing like it...

"One!"

"Let's get 'em!" I cried as the door shot open, darting forward into combat.

"GIVE 'EM HELL, BOYS!"

"FORWARD!"

"COWBOY UP!"

"I LIIIIIIIIIIVE!"

"Go on then, MATES!"

"Mmmrfph mphfrmh!"

"Get 'em, BOYYOS!"

"Shall we?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

So there you go. Something to keep you guys happy and me on task. Hope you enjoyed it!

And remember: leaving a review has a very high chance of being read and taken into consideration!

And for those of you that have been reading my other fanfic, don't worry. Chapter 13 is on its way.


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